


I'm Not Moving

by mynameispiaivy



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: But they get it in the end, Color Blindness, First Kiss, First Love, Fluff, I promise, M/M, Sorry Not Sorry, Soulmates, Too much of it actually, Underage Drinking, a few lines of the song The Man Who Can't Be Moved, a lot of confusion, mention of The Script
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-24 17:10:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15635070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameispiaivy/pseuds/mynameispiaivy
Summary: The Human Eye has two types of photoreceptors, the Rods which gives the Scotopic vision (perception of objects in the dark) and the Cones that gives the Photopic vision (perception of colors). Interpretation of colors allows humans to discriminate objects on the basis of the distribution of wavelengths of light that reflect to the eye. There are three types of cones: Short (S), Medium (M) and Long (L) wavelengths cones. Subsequently, the colors Red, Yellow and Blue are the first three that a human eye can perceive, thereby naming them the Primary colors. Other colors (secondary and tertiary colors) are a mixture of these colors and the addition of white or black to make the intensity and vibrance of the color more pronounced.Soulmates are found by the perception of color that by birth, they can not determine. It is believed that when one is blind from a color (the colors of the rainbow are the basis of spectrum of colors that the human eye can and can not perceive), they are still in search of their soulmate. Harry is blind to the color BLUE. Louis is blind to the color GREEN.





	I'm Not Moving

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mixedfandomfics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixedfandomfics/gifts).



> thanks to my beta maggie @daggerandrose such a breeze to work with.  
> my personal cheerleaders : Rope and Anchor GC girls (you know who you are ladies), ri, reb, L, eli and my boo, A.  
>   
> this is my first rodeo in writing a fic for an exchange. i never knew i could write something from a prompt..well, actually i never knew i could write a fic, period! had fun writing this, i hope you enjoyed it, y’all!  
>  
> 
> say hi to me @missrefridgefreetorator on tumblr..promise, i don't bite (for now, teehee)

 

**I’M NOT MOVING**

 

The Human Eye has two types of photoreceptors, the Rods which gives the Scotopic vision (perception of objects in the dark) and the Cones that gives the Photopic vision (perception of colors). Interpretation of colors allows humans to discriminate objects on the basis of the distribution of wavelengths of light that reflect to the eye. There are three types of cones: Short (S), Medium (M) and Long (L) wavelengths cones. Subsequently, the colors Red, Yellow and Blue are the first three that a human eye can perceive, thereby naming them the Primary colors. Other colors (secondary and tertiary colors) are a mixture of these colors and the addition of white or black to make the intensity and vibrance of the color more pronounced.

 

Soulmates are found by the perception of color that by birth, they can not determine. It is believed that when one is blind from a color (the colors of the rainbow are the basis of spectrum of colors that the human eye can and can not perceive), they are still in search of their soulmate. Harry is blind to the color BLUE. Louis is blind to the color GREEN.

 

GREEN 

 

“Gemma, c’mon!” He tugs her arm, his grip making the cuffs of her blouse wrinkle. He doesn’t care. They have to get closer to the front of the stadium. There is a huge crowd now. Bollocks. Why didn’t she even listen to him to begin with. She knew there will be a huge crowd. The ride on the train would take them at least an hour to get to the Apollo. The tickets were sold out hours after the release of the tour dates. He can’t… he won’t allow it. They have to get in front of the stage.

 

“Harry, look! I’m wearing heels, can we just...” He hears a cacophony of applause and cheering. The air is starting to have a charged energy. His gaze is wandering through the crowd around him. Strangers are sharing infectious grins to one another, some even singing loudly, as if giving an impromptu performances right outside the doors. He feels excited. His feet and body moving swiftly through the crowd, not minding the complains he keeps hearing behind him. If only…  

 

“Gems, we gotta run, okay? Once they open up the doors and let people in, we gotta run to the sides, okay, not to the middle. Gemma, are you listening to me?”

 

“H, I swear to god. If I trip and scrape my knee or even worse, smack my face on the ground, I’m going to murder you!” She glares at him, her nostrils flaring a bit. He snickers. The look on her face is just so damn funny. She pokes his dimple making him wince. Ouchie.

 

“Gemma, quit being a baby. Oh my god, shit. Oh my god Gemma, they’re opening the doors. Gems!” He tugs her arm really hard, her full body weight slamming on his own. She groans, like she’s in actual pain. He keeps pulling her to the direction of the doors, the sound of her heels making clattering noises. “Gemma, c’mon hurry up! Oh my god, Gemma we’re almost there!” ****

****

 

BLUE 

 

“Holy fuck, I’m freezing my ass off here, Jesus Christ. How much longer until they let people in?”

 

There is soft music coming from the venue, his body unconsciously swaying to the sound. He’s with his boys, Oli, Nizam and Stan, who are acting like complete idiots at the moment. There is a group of girls beside them and he sees them nudging each other, making asses of themselves trying to get their attention. The girls seem oblivious though, because all of them are on their phones tweeting or something, he’s not sure.

 

It’s not that he is not interested, he just… well, there is a lot going on before him. He’s looking at the huge crowd in his front, this long ass line to see The Script. Alright, so the thing is, this band is actually one of his favorites. He’d sing their songs multiple times in class, belting out _Glowing_ and _Breakeven_ at the top of his lungs, not to mention while taking his leisurely baths, using his loofa as his mic. Honestly, he doesn’t even believe they were able to get tickets for this show. And they’re going to see them live. So sick!

 

He would like to think he looks good tonight.Thirty five minutes he stood in front of the bathroom mirror to fix his hair. He made sure his fringe was in place, his somewhat mid-layered caramel colored hair had to have that messy but textured styled. Just perfect. He’s wearing his white button down, black trousers, his beaten down beige Chuck Taylor’s (okay, so it used to be white, but is now off white to almost beige, with a noticeable hole on the right side of his right shoe, but who cares!) and a blue cardigan. Why the hell did he forget to grab his bomber jacket from the car? He just had to listen to stupid Stan when he told him, “Lou, it will bring out your eyes. Don’t wear that, wear this instead.” The tips of his fingers are getting numb at the moment, his teeth chattering loudly. God damn it.

 

“Stan, for fuck’s sake. Can we just wait in the car for a mo’? I can’t feel my limbs already.”

 

“Louis, I’ll keep you warm. Do you want me to hug you?”

 

He looks at his friend. His friend who has his arms stretched out to him, making grabby hands. You would think for a moment with his big puppy brown eyes and smile, he is genuinely concerned of the well being of his frozen limbs. Nope. he’s not going to let this wanker touch his impeccably ironed and very white shirt. He brushes his hands away, accidentally hitting Oli in the head. “Shit, sorry Oli. Nizam, don’t you fucking dare! I don’t want your filthy paws on me white shirt, mate. Get away from me.”

 

“I’m wounded, Lou. You don’t want my hugs, babe?”

 

“Fucking get away from me. Oh shit!”

 

Suddenly, it’s like pandemonium. Loud screaming and hollering can be heard from the people outside the arena. Few are scampering, getting out of the queue. Security are ordering people to calm down, but some are just pushing and shoving people out from the lines. He sees a couple, a young lanky boy with curly hair dragging a woman from the middle of the line. The poor woman winces at every step she makes as she tries to keep up with the man holding her hand. He is swerving left to right, like David Beckham, dodging the people also trying to get inside the arena. Crazies. A bony elbow is nudging his stomach and pulls him out from the sudden amusement of looking at the jostling crowd.

 

“Let’s go, Lou. We can maybe sneak first to the bar and get some pints before the show starts.” His red haired friend says. He fixes his fringe and checks for the fake ID in his wallet. Him and Stan just got it a few days ago. Yes, they’re going to get smashed tonight. He starts brandishing it to the lads saying no more to stealing their father’s stash just to get drunk. Yeah, this is going to be an amazing night.

 

****

 

GREEN 

 

**Going back to the corner, when I first saw you.**

**Gonna camp in my sleeping bag, I’m not gonna move.**

**Got some words on cardboard, got your picture in my hand.**

 

“I love this song, Gems!” He was shouting the lyrics to her ears, sloshing the contents of his drink on her pink blouse. “Saying, if you see this girl, can you tell her where I am?”

 

She shoves his face away from her and says, “H, you absolute light-weight! Did you even eat before we came here? Get yourself together.” Her right hand starts to lightly slap his cheek, trying to get his attention. “Damn it, Harry. I only got you a couple of Electric Lemonades. Can you... uhmp– Let’s get you some water.” She slots her arms to his waist and tries to make him stand straight. “Harry, c’mon work with me.”

 

**Cause one day you wake up and find that you’re missing me.**

**And your heart starts to wonder where on this earth I could be.**

 

“H, c’mon.”

“Gemma, I love you.”

 

**Thinking maybe you’ll come back here to the place that we’d meet.**

**And you’ll see me waiting for you on our corner of the street.**

 

“Shit, H. Move your fucking legs, will yah?” She says this as they stagger towards the bar. The room begins to sway, the human figures in front of him seem to be changing shapes. One looks like a goat, the other like an angry hedgehog. Little hedgie is cute, he likes hedgehogs.    

 

“Gemma, why are there farm animals in the O2?”

 

The room begins to swirl, making him dizzy and light headed. He topples down on to something or someone, accidentally stepping on the animal’s feet.

 

“Hey, watch it!”

 

**So I’m not moving, I’m not moving.**

 

Zero point six seconds later, he doubles over, vomit splashing on the very white button down shirt of the man in front of him. Some spattering to the floor and at the lovely shoes his nose is currently resting on.

 

“What the fuck!”

 

“Oh my god, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Harry, shit. Stand up, oh my god, I’m so sorry”

 

“Shit, fuck, shit! What the hell is this blue stuff?”

 

He hears the words but they don’t register in his primitive intoxicated mind. He’s pretty sure his brain is telling him to move. To place the palms of his hands on the surface of the floor. To put his entire upper body weight on to his arms and push up. He will probably feel a moderate degree of pressure on his wrists as he attempts to stand up. Okay.

 

But this alone will not make him stand up, no siree. There are also his legs. Don’t forget the importance of your legs, dear Harold. His mind would tell him, that your legs will be the ones that will carry the rest of the weight off your lower body. He finds himself nodding stupidly. Uh huh.

 

So, what does he have to do again? Yes, he has to start by flexing his legs, making the anterior aspect of his leg to touch the floor. Once he was able to bend his legs, his knees will surely be on the floor, harboring the weight of his lower body. He has to shift the weight from his lower back down to his bum, whereby his hips will be the ones that will guide his bum to shift the heaviness of his lumbar area and sacral area to his strong thighs. This has to be in succession though, cause if one does not work with the other, he will not be able to stand up. The volar aspect of his body needs to definitely not be touching the wet floor, cause really yuck, there’s puke. His puke really. That is if he had successfully managed to stand up, with his dignity intact.

 

On a normal night, he would already be standing. But tonight is not a normal night. He had consumed his first drink in all the sixteen years of his life. Actually, a couple of this weird colored drink that Gemma says tastes like bubblegum. The urge of getting up from the floor, is not gonna happen. Nope, not going to happen.

 

“Gemma, why does the floor got a weird color? I wanna sleep here, I’m tired.”

 

“Harry, stand up.” as she desperately tries to tug one of his arms up, his other hand stays limp on his side. He tries to touch the odd color he sees on the floor. “Harry stand up! Mate, I’m so sorry. I’m just gonna–”

 

This is the moment he decides to look up to the man who is currently wiping his shirt from his vomit, spewing curses as he does it.

“Fuck! Why does it have to be on me new white shirt? And my shoes! It’s ruined!”

 

“Lou, are you alright?”

 

“Yeah man, everything is fucking great. I perfectly expected to be puked at by some bloke tonight. Of course I’m not alright, Oli!”

 

“Harry, stand up! I’m sorry, my brother– it’s his first time drinking.”

 

 _This is embarrassing_ , he thinks. Now these people know he’s a literal novice in the arts of liquor drinking. Two fruity cocktails and he’s hammered. Jesus. His arms start to flap to whatever limb he can get a hold on. There are hands hooking to his armpits, trying to haul him up. He tries, well he attempts to stand, but his knees are weak and there’s this odd feeling in his stomach. Oh no, he thinks he’s going to hurl again. No, no more.

 

He grips the shirt of the person holding him up, his head lolling to its neck. He breathes in. Hhmm, this person smells good. Flowers. He is suddenly envisioning flowers. It’s like he awakens from a short nap and is welcomed by the sight of a beautiful garden. Lilac? No. Is it roses then? No. Magnolia? Yes. He sniffs again, his sense of smell going haywire. There is a hint of vanilla with oriental cherry blossom scent invading his nostrils. Lovely.

 

“You smell lovely.”

 

“Mate, can you– Stan can you help me please?”

 

Several hands are now moving him away from the lovely smell. No, no stop.

 

“Stop.”

 

“H, are you gonna go again?”

 

He tries to capture the scent again but all he smells is Lynx. Eew. He raises his hand in slow motion, like a sloth trying to reach for a carrot from his caretaker.

 

“Did you give him something else other than the drinks? Why is he moving so slow?”

 

Gemma tries to put his hand down, but the muscles in his arm are preventing her from doing that. “Harry put your damn hand down.”

 

His hand is moving up on its own volition, in a very slow, absolutely sluggish pace. He looks up to his extended hand hovering over his head, pointing his index finger to the sky trying to draw everyone’s attention. “I have something to say”

 

“Harry, what are you doing? Put your hand down!”

 

He is slurring more than he is speaking. “No... I need to say it, Gemma or else..” Even in his alcoholic stupor, he feels his face flush, his heart rate speeding up. Tingling sensations coming from his stomach going down to his groin. “I think…” he clears his throat a bit. “I think, I need to spend a penny.”

 

“You taking a piss mate?”

 

“Yes, I need to take a piss, mate!”  He scowls at the boy who is now the one holding him up. Where is the flower? He sniffs, trying to get the whiff of that heavy scent of magnolia. Like a petulant child, he pouts and make grabby hands to the lovely faint smell on his right. He touches nothing. Damn. With an audible grunt he says, “To the loo, Gemma.”

 

Half blinded by the dimness of the arena and his utter drunkenness, he lets the push and pull of his body by unknown hands until the pungent odor of urine hits his nose.

 

“Phew, this room stinks! I’m not going in Harry. Uhm, I’ll let… what’s your name by the way?”

 

“Louis.”

 

“Yeah, Louis. I’m really sorry for what my brother did. I’ll be right outside, okay. Just–” He feels his body being tossed towards someone. There are arms wrapping on his limp body. “Harry please, we are totally fucked if mom finds out I let you drink. Yuck, it’s really putrid here! I’ll be right outside, H. Louis will help you clean up.”

 

Louis. So the flower’s name is Louis. He feels two strong arms wrap around his limp body. The boy is practically dragging him somewhere, to where, he doesn’t know or even care. His mind is consumed by the sweet scent of magnolia again. He takes a sniff with his eyes closed. Lovely. His hands sneaks to the boy’s tiny waist, hooks his index finger to his belt loop. Cozy.

 

“Alright, kid.”

 

Wait, what? “I’m not a kid!” he shouts. His body manages to right itself up, even if his wobbly legs are not fully cooperating. Well, what he actually did was pull his shoulders back to make himself look as tall as he possible, straightening his body and tilt his chin up. With a lower timbre in his voice he said to flower. “I turned sixteen a few days ago. I am old, ‘am not a kid no more.”

 

“After downing a few glasses of cocktail, you’re already pissed. Proper old man you are, aye?” Louis cackles. The nerve. He wants to say something that could make this boy shut up, but his attention is distracted by Louis’ hands shifting. One of his arms drapes to his shoulder, while one of his hands steadies him by the hips. The hard surface bumping his belly made him realize that they actually took a few steps going to somewhere, he’s not even sure now.

 

“Okay, Harry, we are literally in front of the sink. You think you can clean yourself up while I try to get some paper towels for you? Hold yourself up, love. Yeah, both hands on to the sink. I’ll open up the knob for you, alright?” He hears water slapping the hard surface of the sink, some spattering on his hands and wrists. “I think you should try washing your face first, mate.” Louis guides one of his hands to the opened faucet, lukewarm water flowing freely to his fingertips. He cups his hand, bringing the puddle of water up to his mouth. It takes a few seconds before he could feel Louis getting near where he was standing. He hands him a bunch paper towels and stood a few steps beside him. He hears a loud splashing sound on his right, certain that Louis opened the faucet on the next sink.     

 

“Shit, I hope this won’t stain.”

 

“I’m sorry.” He croaks. Realization of what Louis just said caused the words from his mouth to get caught up in his throat. He’s a goddamn mess and Louis is angry with him. His felt heat rising to his face, his eyes stinging a bit. He wants to cry. A lone tear escapes his eye, hitting his arm. He cough-sniffled trying to conceal his crying.

 

“Hey.” A hand pushes his hair back and tucks it behind his ear. “Don’t cry. It’s alright.”

 

“I ruined...your shirt..” He hiccups. “Your shoes.” His tears starts flowing freely now, the embarrassment he feels multiplying as Louis tries to console him. A soft material, probably a handkerchief, gently pats the tears off his face. Delicately, he feels a hand cupping his jaw, lifting his face up, a thumb caressing his cheek. He swallows, breathing heavily. “I am genuinely sorry.”

 

“It’s okay. I’m sure a little bit of bleach will take this blue color off.”

 

He squints his eyes to Louis’ shirt “Blue?”

 

They both jump as four loud knocks was heard from the door.

 

“Harry, are you done? I already called a cab, we gotta get home now.”

 

“All right, all right, he’s coming out. Mate, don’t cry. I think you’re all sorted out now.” He hands him more paper towels as he ushers him out the door. “Ehrm, miss. Here’s your brother.” His hands suddenly clutches the boy’s arm, taking his attention.

 

“Don’t be mad at me.”

 

“I’m not mad, Harry.” he says, assuring him with a smile. His eyes lit up, transfixed to the upturned lips from the boy. It was unexpected, that he felt warmth rush through him. He suddenly feels shy, like he doesn’t believe Louis just gave him the loveliest smile anyone could ever given him. “Just go home and take some rest, love.”

 

 _Love._ He’s never heard a boy say that to him before. He swings his arms around his neck and whispers “Thank you, Louis”

 

“Uhh..” he smirks as he sees the boy’s stunned face.

 

“I’m really sorry for what happened, mate. Thank you for taking care of my brother.” Gemma shakes Louis’ hand and then grabs Harry’s. “Let’s go, Harry. The taxi is waiting.” Then she hurriedly pulls him out the hallway,  through the crowd, through the gates, and into the awaiting car. He tries to look back to see if Louis is following them. But Gemma, on heels is surprisingly fast. He almost trips several times as she pushes the bodies out of their way while holding a death grip to his poor hands. His head strains out the window of the moving car, trying to get a glimpse of the boy with the most beautiful smile. But all he sees are people walking out from the O2, going in every direction, some getting to their cars, most just walking to the streets probably trying to catch the metro. A sigh escapes his lips. Just like that, Mr. Lovely Flower is gone, never to be seen again.

 

****

 

BLUE 

 

“Louis, honey are you up?”

 

Soft knocks wakes him up. He groans, his head is pounding. It feels like two nails are being drilled into the sides his skull. He attempts to open his eyes, but there is a harsh glare of light reaching his face, making him squint. Everything is just too bright. He tries to block the offending light, lifts his left hand to his face then looks around.

 

What time is it? He shuts his eyes, the light making his headache worse. All his drapes are wide open since he forgot to close them when he got in last night. How in the hell did he got home? Oh right, Stan drove him last night. He’s genuinely surprised he got into the house without waking anyone up. His body tries to stir, but his limbs feels like putty. Damn it, he already regrets agreeing on going with the lads to get more drinks after the show. He lost count of the number of beers Stan was handing him last night, all his fingers won’t probably cover it.

 

“Lou, are you decent? I’m coming in okay.”

 

Registering the voice outside his room as his mom, he abruptly stands up from the bed. Wait, wrong move, he thinks he’s dying. He puts his fingers to his temple and rubs it furiously. Stop, stop, stop. He blearily opens his right eye, noticing a few items in his periphery. There is a bottle of water and two tablets paracetamol sitting prettily on top of his side table. Thank the fuck Stan for remembering to leave these last night. He smacks his lips, tasting stale saliva in his mouth. His throat feels like sandpaper. He quickly downs the tablets, gulping water like his life depended on it. A sudden gust of wind hits his bare arms. Strange. He looks down on himself and sees his bare chest. Where is his shirt? His eyes look up to the figure standing at the foot of his bed.

 

“Louis, what is this?”

 

“Whut?”

 

“This.” Then his mum wags his less than pristine white shirt in front of his face. The loud and very BLUE stain staring at him, mocking him.

 

“Oh, that? Well, it wasn’t there yesterday I presume.” He tries to be coy to his mother, who is currently not happy with him at the moment.

“Louis, you left yesterday telling me you and Stan are going out to look for a job. I specifically told you, this shirt is brand new. You are to wear this for your audition in a few weeks. Do I need to remind you of that or did you forgot yet again, hmm?” Then she raises her eyebrows.

 

The thing is, he didn’t forget. How could he? Last year was when he did his first audition for the X Factor. Let’s just put it this way, he was gutted to be exact. It was horrendous. Having just turned sixteen, he never knew how gruelling it was. The wait was horrible. It was hours before he heard his number called. Four and a half hours of him sweating even if it’s practically barely twelve degrees that day. He felt his teeth chattering, his feet bouncing, and his heart stopping every time he heard the boom of the microphone announcing the set of people being called in. His anxiety doubling over every second he waited.

 

That morning, they drove to Birmingham at the quarter past five, his hands shivered from nervousness or possibly from the three cups of tea he had take whilst waiting for his dad to warm up the car. He remembered wearing a purple scarf, a light brown cardigan, a blue and white striped shirt tucked in his grey chinos and his signature toms. It took them less than a couple of hours to get there, but the moment they did, his heart dropped. Jesus. Why did he even decide to audition? His eyes scan the mass of people outside the stadium. There must have been at least five thousand people in line, maybe a couple more. On the sides are barricades holding probably the same amount of  people. They all seemed to be standing, cheering and shouting, holding out signs to the folks in line to audition. Shit, what had he got himself into? He shivered and it’s obviously not from the cold air outside.

 

_“I think...we should turn around.” he mumbles._

 

_“What did you just say, love?”_

 

_“I don’t know if I can do it, Mum. I don’t know if I’m good enough.” His eyes furiously wanders to the crowd. There are some girls dressed as the Pussycat Dolls, a man with heavy makeup garbed in an all black ensemble, a group of boys who looks like preppy uni students practicing their dance steps. Wait up, is he suppose to dance too? “There are thousands of people auditioning. Look at them, Mum. I don’t think..I don’t think I can do it”_

 

_“Hey,” His mother turns around to look at him. She puts out her right hand to touch his arm. “Why would you say that, baby? All these people out there are in the same state as you are in, Louis.  They are all taking a chance by auditioning, none of them are truly ready too, love.”_

 

_Their car stayed immobile for a bit. All the cars in front of them seemed to be in a stand still, all heads turned to the huge crowd outside the arena. His momentary stupor was broken when their car started moving again towards the parking structure on his left. He cranes his neck to the window. There is no way he will be chosen for the show. His lips starts to tremble, moisture gathering from his eyes. He doesn’t think he could do it._

 

_“Louis, look at me.” His mother soothingly says. “The moment I saw you sing and dance in your school play, I knew you were special, that you are talented. Do you remember the standing ovation you had? You had the biggest smile on your face, everybody loves you. You have to believe in yourself more, baby.” She cups his face and blew him a kiss._

 

_“But..”_

 

_“Lou, I know you’re scared. Deciding on coming here today to audition, that’s step one. Step two is showing them what you got. Regardless if you get in or not, always remember we are so very proud of you. I love you so much, baby. We will be here for you no matter what. C’mon, cheer up love. Let’s show ‘em what boo bear can do.”_

 

_He sits up from the back of the car, puts his chest out, huffs then slams his fist to the center of his chest twice, getting to a coughing fit. Oww.  His mother unbuckles her seat belt, reaches out to him then gently pats his back. “I’m okay mum, sorry got a bit dramatic there.” He fixes his cardigan, flips his hair to the side then puffs air forcibly out of his mouth a few times. All right, man up Tomlinson, it’s now or never. “Let’s go mum, we gotta show them the TOMMO way!”_

 

The ruined shirt stared at him in the face. Damn, now he has to get another one for the audition. He grabs the stained shirt from his mother’s hand and tries to fold it before saying, “Mum, I really am sorry. I swear, I was trying to be careful. But this kid puked on me shirt and shoes!”

 

His mother purses her lips and raised an eyebrow. “Where did you go last night?”

 

He lowered his eyes, he can’t bring himself to look her in the eyes. She’ll know. “Out.”

 

“Where is Out, Louis?”

 

It’s not as if something bad happened last night. He got home safe, in spite of not knowing the exact time he actually got into the house, or his room to be honest. Technically, there wasn’t much to talk about since he did get home alright. That is, his white shirt and shoes are not alright though. The heat of his mother’s eyes starts boring through his skull, he can’t even ignore the tension building up in the room. “Uhm..”

 

“Louis.”

 

“We, well...we went to this concert in Manchester.” He pulls his hands around his knees, arms hugging them close to his chest. His eyes kept scanning the expanse of his bed, still not looking at his mother. “There were so many people, we were just minding our own business. And then there was this drunk kid..”

 

“Why would there be a drunk kid in that concert, Louis? You are not even allowed to drink yet.”

 

This is the moment he chose to look his mother in the eye. Wrong move. “Mum, you missed the part where we were just minding our business.”

 

The look on her mother’s face is with annoyance and a tinge of disappointment. She drops her head, closes her eyes for a few seconds. The muscles in her jaw are visibly tight, like trying to suppress her bubbling anger. She’s silent, her chest rising and falling in a controlled manner. He can’t see the expression on her face, there is a sudden flush creeping from her neck to her cheeks. He clears his throat, swallowing his guilt. She then lifts her head, opens her eyes to look at him. They hold gazes for what seemed like an eternity before she speaks. “Louis, we’ve talked about this.”

 

“Mum, I swear we didn’t do anything wrong.”

 

“Louis. I could smell you from here.”

 

He shifts his legs, he is moving before he knew what he was doing. His arms encircle his mother’s waist, his cheek hitting the center of her chest. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Mum. Please don’t be mad at me.”

 

“What if you boys got caught?”

 

There was no other person to blame but him if four underaged boys are caught drinking illegally. They used his fake ID to get the booze, Stan driving his car to the nearest park they could find. They all cramped in the car and drank until he could forget what happened to his shirt and his favorite shoes. It’s just that, last night sucked. It sucked that he ever get to be in the same room with this Harry. This lad who can’t even hold his damn liquor.  

 

“Lou,” She says, her fingers softly rubbing the back of his neck. Her hands moves to his jaw, lifting his chin up, watching his face. He stares back to the kind blue orbs staring back at him. “I’m not mad. I was worried and a tad disappointed.”

 

He kept staring at her, his eyes never straying away from her face. She releases a long breath before continuing. “I need to punish you for this, okay. You are to give me your car keys, no going out for two weeks. I’ll drive you to school before my shift every morning and Dad will pick you up after. Tell Stan to come over later, tell him I’m not mad. But I need him to understand why I am punishing you, alright.”

 

All he could do was nod in agreement. He is not a child anymore, but the the comfort of his mother rendering him reassurances that he is to be forgiven every time a stupid idea pops in his head gives him solace. His grip around his mother’s waist tightens, his chin resting on the top of her stomach. “I’m sorry.”

 

She leans down and gives him a kiss at the top of his head. “We’re okay, love. See, I’m not mad. Just was a bit worried.” Then rubs her thumbs to the apples of his cheeks. “But we still have to talk about this and I still need you to tell Stan I need to speak with him, alright?”

 

“I will, Mum.” He pulls himself up so he can properly give his mother a hug and a kiss. “I love you.”

 

“And I love you more, baby. C’mon get up and help me with laundry.”

 

An hour and a half of being in the basement, folding and refolding clothes did not for a minute, make him forget about his hangover and empty stomach. It’s his stupid kit that’s making him really annoyed. He can’t get rid of the stupid stain on it. Three washes, and it still had this weird color. Should he bleach his kit or just..what even is this color? He hears a growl, like an inward fart. Groaning, he realizes this can only be remedied by eating. His headaches intensifies every second he spends in the basement. Trying to relieve the pain, he places the tips of his thumb and middle finger to his temples, giving it a bit of pressure in a circular motion.

 

No more hiding, he needs to text Stan. He grabs his phone from his back pocket and sends out a short message. _Stan whatever you’re doing, drop it and come here, right the fuck now._ Message not sent. Fuck, no signal. He waves his phone from every corner of the room, even goes up the washer to get to the jammed egress window open, but still no signal. There’s the sound of wheels turning on the pavement that made him stop waving his hands in the air. The engine stops abruptly and he hears a clicking sound of a door being opened and keys rattling in the air. There were two knocks on their front door and then a familiar sound hits his ear.

 

“Hi, Jay.” Shit, Stan is already here. He flops from the washer as fast as he could, knocking some of the folded clothes to the floor. His foot gets tangled in one of his mother’s dressing gown, making him trip and fall. Jesus Christ, can’t he have a break for just a second. He furiously rubs his knees, unhooks his left foot from the garment, which he is sure he has to wash again, then hurriedly scrambles up the stairs. Taking the steps two at a time didn’t made his trip to the kitchen any quicker, when he heard “Yeah, I was the one who took him home last night. I’ll let the lads know. I’m really sorry, Jay. Tell Louis I dropped by.”

 

“Stan, wait!”

 

He shouts just at the moment his feet hit the entryway of the kitchen. Two sets of eyes look at him with no signs of bewilderment, like they were expecting him to burst into room anytime. The look in Stan’s face tells him signs of despondence, like a kid being told you can’t have any cake in a fucking birthday party. Shit.

 

“Hey, Lou.” Stan scratches the back of his neck. “Was ‘bout to leave.”

 

He casually gives his mother a glance who’s already staring back at him. She arches her eyebrows, eyeing him with a daring look. Trickles of sweat begin to slide down his temples, his hands are already sweating with the prospects of speaking to his best friend privately. He blows air on his hands then rubs it to the side his trousers.

 

“Mum, is it okay if I walk Stan outside. Please?”

 

She turns around and starts cutting off vegetables on the counter when she heard her speak “Louis, you are to come back as soon as Stan gets in his car. Is that clear?”

 

He pushed himself away from the wall and walked past his friend and hugs her mother from behind.  “Yes, mum. Thank you.”

 

Her hand circles around one of his arms and sighs. “Okay, go. Before Stan gets a heart attack.” She gives him a wink before turning back around. He motions for Stan to go ahead to the awning before planting a kiss to his mother’s cheek.

 

They walk side by side, the sounds of their socked feet the only noise heard in the hallway.

 

“Mate, thank you for bringing me home last night. It’s so embarrassing. Tsk, mum even asked for the fake ID.” He grimaces remembering the look on his mother’s face. “Shit, she was so disappointed at me.”

 

“Fuck. Good thing Jay hasn’t to talk to my Pa yet. He’ll kill me for sure,” Stan says as he shoves his foot in his shoes. “But, Lou...last night” Louis sees something flicker behind his friend’s eyes.

 

“Dude.. ” Louis pushes Stan towards the door, afraid that his mother will hear what they’re talking about. Stan opens the door for him as they go outside the house. His face suddenly shifting from sullen to sheer excitement. “t’was sick.”

 

“Didn’t realize there will be a lot of girls in that gig, bro. Nizam even got this girl’s number while you were in the loo.”

 

“Fuck it, Stan. Don’t remind me.” His shoulder hits the post of their patio, wincing as he rubs it. He turns swiftly to the driveway, his eyes scanning the area where he was sure Stan parked his car.

 

“Where’s your car?”

 

“It’s right where I parked it, Lou.” Stan says as he was tying his laces. He lifts his head up, then gives him an odd expression. “It’s right there, you idiot.”

 

The car in question has a different color than what he surely knows is not the color he is looking at right now. “Where?”

 

Stan walks down the stairs towards what he says is his car. Without waiting for an answer, he hurriedly follows, doing long strides until he reached him. Right in front of...The Car.

 

The only explanation he could think of is, he must really be hungry or maybe dehydrated. His stomach grumbles. He silently prays it’s just his brain telling him it needs food-- now. He stands beside the car with his mouth wide open.  No way is he seeing the same thing as Stan.

 

“Lou.” He raps his knuckles to the side of the car, getting his attention. “I’ll text you later.” The keys to the car in his other hand glistens just as the sun hits the silver chain hooked on one of the loops for his belt.

 

Louis looks at it, remembers the key chain he gave him as gift when he bought his car. He jumps from his momentary dazed phase and says, “Your car is grey, Stan.”

 

“Lou, c’mon. I don’t have time for this.”

 

“Your car. It’s supposed to be grey.”

 

“It has always been green, you wanker! I need to go home before Jay comes out and gives me another lecture.”

 

Stan then opens the door and slams it shut. He turns the ignition, ignoring his stunned look. There is repeating internal monologue in his perplexed little mind. _Stan’s car color is Grey. Grey is the color of Stan’s car. The car, in question, is Grey. Stan, who he knew purchased a car last year, with whom he went with to pick the model and to test drive it along Rotherham is Grey. This car in front of him is not Grey._ The car backs away, the wheels making screeching sounds as it turns to the road going back to his house. This is the moment he decided to run, his socked feet hitting the pavement hard.

 

“What do you mean Green?”

 

****

 

GREEN 

 

He looks in front of the mirror and tries to figure out if what he’s wearing at the moment will do. The good thing of having two women in the household is one can choose from the hodgepodge of items they have in their closets. He fluffs the scarf around his neck. It has a somewhat brownish green color with tiny words written on it. He found it on his mother’s bed, just tied around the post of the headboard, which he found odd to be honest. The color actually compliments his brown pants, that hangs on his small hips and almost non-existent bum.

 

Ugh, why does it have to look like a deflated balloon that’s been hovering around your yard after it has been set out to the sky in an engagement party. He tried sticking out his back side, but mere forty five seconds of doing that made his back hurt. Sighing, he then pulls his white shirt down to try to hide his bum. That’s the most immediate remedy he can do at the moment.

 

There’s his sister’s grey cardigan, that she said would look good on him. It’s a bit snug on the shoulders, and short to be honest, but the thing is, it does looks good on him. This will do, he muses.

 

The brown suede chelsea boots he’s wearing right now is what really makes him happy about. He’s been having so much luck wearing them, to be honest. The first time he did was when he took his A-level exams. He wasn’t expecting to fail actually, but the numbers he got were quite impressive. His dreams of becoming a lawyer someday isn’t so doubtful anymore. The second time was when he went to the Script concert. Well, he’s not even sure if it’s luck, or if it’s just destiny telling him he had to go to that concert, drink that awful fruity concoction of a drink, get drunk for the first time in his life, and puke at the prettiest person his eyes ever laid his sight on. Pure, dumb, stupid, humiliating luck.

 

It has been exactly four weeks, three days, six hours, and twenty two seconds since the moment he was able to see the color Blue. This is the same amount of time he knew who caused it. _Louis_.

 

“Let’s go, sport.”

 

“Yeah, Dad. Be out in a minute.”

 

One more touch and he’s ready. He grabs his blue bandana and wraps it around his left wrist. His fingers touch the fabric securely wound around his wrist by a small knot and says a silent prayer. _Wherever you are Louis, I know someday we’ll meet again. And this time, I’ll make sure you’ll know who I am._

 

He checks his watch. They will be arriving in Manchester in exactly forty minutes, if there’s no traffic. It’s now or never.  He strokes the bandana one more time. He’s like rubbing a magic lamp urging the genie to pop out of it. A genie with the sweetest smell and the loveliest blue eyes.

 

“Wish me luck, Louis. Wherever you are.” and plants a kiss on the inner part of his left wrist. He chances a look outside his window and sees clear blue skies. How did he even manage to live his life not seeing the color of the sky for sixteen years? It’s just too beautiful to behold. And he can only thank the person who made him see this color.

 

One day, he’ll get the chance to thank him for that. Not just once, but for the endless mornings they will be together.

 

****

 

BLUE 

 

“ ‘Kay, lad. You’re number is 155204. Go to that side over there and wait for your number to be called. Good luck.”

 

He walks to his mother and father on the other side of the barricade where all the friends and relatives of auditionees are waiting. His mother insists on taking a photo of him before he does his audition. It’s to keep a memento of the moment, just in case he gets in to the show. He doesn’t get the novelty behind it. It’s not like this is his first time, for god’s sake. When he heard the three No’s from the judges last time, he was devastated. Promised himself he wouldn’t come back. But here he is again, taking another chance. And by god, he’s so ready to get into the show. He can feel it, he knows he’s going to get three Yes’s.  

 

There is a set up in the middle of the two barricades separating the two groups of people. He’s seen this before, pretty sure they are doing random interviews with the hopefuls. Last year, he was the unlucky bloke who they dragged from the line before having his audition. He was all smiles answering their questions, so excited to be there for the first time. The thing is, after not being sent through to the live show, it made him very doubtful of himself. But god damn, he really wants this. His desire to sing and perform in front of an audience has never changed. There is no greater high than seeing people happy and clapping their hands for you. He just loves making people happy, because that makes him happy too.

 

Walking on the other side of the barricade made him have a good view of the crew filming the interview. His mum can wait a bit longer, he just wants to check out who they are interviewing. He strains his neck, grabs the beam in front of him for support as he stood on the other side of the barricade in his tippy toes. A certain mop of curls catches his attention. Jesus fuck, how in the world..

 

He grits his teeth and backs away hastily, bumping into somebody, almost knocking that person to the ground. His hand swiftly grabs the arm of the fellow, well, actually not a fellow, but a girl. A very angry and very familiar girl. Shit.

 

“You!”

 

“Ehrm, me?”

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

His knows heart is beating way too fast, so fast that he has to clutch his chest. It’s her. The girl who made him see Green. “It’s you. I finally found you.”

 

“What do you..wait. Are you stalking me?”

 

He can’t believe his luck. Five days that he and Stan had been driving around Manchester, looking for her. Stan was even saying it’s impossible to find a girl, mainly because he wasn’t able to get the girl’s name. All he had was this shrouded image of her face and the color of her hair.  He remembers her vividly, actually its her brother that he remembers quite well like it was yesterday. But he had to scrape the image of that boy real fast, because its her. She’s here.

 

There are thousands of girls with brown hair, green eyes, and the cutest dimples on their cheeks in Manchester, Stan would say. For five days, he thought for sure he had imagined her. But here she is. The One. He realized the moment he can see the color Green, he knew she had to be the reason. She is his soulmate.

 

“You are my soulmate.”

 

“I’m your what now?”

 

It was like an out of the body experience. Without such accord, he leaned his body and hugged her. “I was looking for you for days. We went back the next day at the O2 to check if somebody knows you.” He squeezes her tight, his chin hooked to her neck. “I’ve finally found you again, I can’t believe it. What are the odds of me finding you here?”

 

He thinks he’s maybe a tad overreacting. But hey, he found his girl, right. “Some people have to look for their soulmate for years, oh my god. How can I be so lucky.”  

 

She flinches then shoves him really hard making him fall to the ground. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

 

“What is going on here?”

 

Now it seems things are getting worse. Not only does his soulmate not recognize him, there’s another man holding her protectively looking like a punched drunk lover. And now, this man is looking at him like he is about to pounce him. “What the fuck do you think you’re doin’, mate?” The other guy says this as he grabs the collar of Louis’ flawlessly ironed shirt.

 

“Michael, stop it!”

 

This Michael person, who easily lifted his body off the ground with his large hands on his shoulder, is now spewing words that he had a hard time understanding.

 

“Why are you touching my wife?”

 

“Wife?” He uttered in disbelief.  There is a very slim chance he misheard the word. This is not the scenario he had in his head. It had been weeks of daydreaming of how this major event in his life should have taken place. Is destiny playing tricks on him?

 

He tries jerking away from the man whose face is about six inches away from him, but Michael had now moved his hands from his collar to his biceps, whose fingers are digging into his flesh. His heart is hammering furiously. He needs to get away from here. He needs to clear his mind and figure out what is happening.

 

“Michael, Gemma. Is there a problem here?” There is a slight scuffle in his periphery, like somebody ran fast to where they are, possibly trying to gage how bad the situation is. And it has turned bad, very bad to be exact. Green orbs hits his eyes in seconds, recognition seeping in. “Louis?”

 

With that, Michael’s grip on his biceps loosens until he’s let go without any hesitation. He looks at Louis and Harry with wide eyes, as he takes a few steps back to his wife’s side. _Wife_.

 

Louis stumbles a bit and tries to get his bearings when he hears his supposed soulmate say something.

 

“I think you got it wrong, Louis. I’m not your soulmate, Harry is. I met mine when I was in middle school.” To prove her point even further, she fondly looks at Michael and kisses him on the mouth affectionately.

 

It was like white noise, sending a shock to his system. He remains like that, slack jawed, mouth wide open, and his eyes as big as saucers. The air around him gets thin, making it hard for him to breath. It’s as if he is stuck underwater, all he sees are warbled images moving slowly.   

 

“When did you start seeing green, Louis? Was it the morning after you saw Harry at the concert?”

 

His mind is short circuiting. He desperately tries to think when did he exactly see Green. Each information that pops in his brain is telling him he did see Green the morning after the concert. But he saw her first, right? He looks at the girl standing a few feet away from him, her hand entwined with the man who a few minutes ago had a death grip on his arms. His face probably shows complete confusion of what is happening, but his mind is telling him to understand what he is seeing. The cogs in his brain starts working, realization creeping in. They look like a couple that are meant to be together. That they are one.

“I .. I’ve got to go.”

 

“Louis.”

 

He keeps walking. Does not even care if he hears his name being called out loud by a baritone voice. The thing is, he’s not even sure now why he thought it was her that made him see green. He should feel hurt, embarrassed, humiliated even. But he’s not. For a split second, he was relieved that she was not his soulmate. Honestly, the morning he realized he was seeing the color green, Harry’s face was the one he kept remembering the most. She was a blur in his mind. If she doesn’t look like the girl version of Harry, he would have forgotten her for sure. Fuck, he doesn’t even know her name, for god’s sake. His feet leads him to the nearest building, the first door that he happens to see is the men’s restroom. As soon as he opens the door, somebody from behind him collides with him making him stumble to the floor.

 

“Oops.”

 

The air stills, like the moment is suspended in time. He’s not surprised who knocked him to the ground, if not for the mop of curls that is currently obscuring his field of vision. It takes him zero point nine seconds to have his lips stretched into a grin, his eyebrows raising, his thumb and index fingers reaching the stray curls in front of the boy’s face. Then he sees it, eyes that sparkle like emeralds, looking into him with paralyzing gaze, rendering him powerless.     

 

“Hi.”

 

“I’m sorry, Louis. Oh my god, here let me help you.” Harry starts scrambling off the floor and reaches for his arm. His hand grips his forearm and pulls him up fast, his other hand holding his waist. They are now standing chest to chest, face inches away from each other.  

 

“Why do we keep on meeting this way, Harold? With you and I ending up inside a dingy restroom.” He can feel his heartbeat, every single beat coming out from his chest. The constant rhythm that his heart is beating in unison with.   

 

“My name is not Harold.” He was pouting his lips, like an indignant child.

 

Louis grins giving the younger boy a quizzical look. “You genuinely believe I forgot your name, Harry. Oi, I would never forget the boy who ruined my favorite pair of shoes.”

 

“Look..”

 

“I know, I know. It was an accident. But what a happy accident that was.”

 

“Happy?..You mean, you’re happy to have met me?”

 

There is a sense of satisfaction enveloping him. Like this would make more sense than what he had previously thought was his destiny. The moment Harry puked that offending blue cocktail on his Chuck Taylor’s, he had this natural disposition to take care of him. That he needs to know if he was okay that night. Come to think of it, when he wasn’t busy trying to remember what the woman he thought was his soulmate looks like, it was Harry’s face that kept popping in his mind. Like it was telling him you got it all wrong, mate. _Mate_.  

 

They stare at each other for what seems like hours, holding each other’s gazes. He tries to read Harry’s face, exploring the creases and curves of his young face. No words are uttered, but a story of wonder, curiosity and understanding are silently communicated. Harry decides to drop his eyes and look at his lips.

 

Louis flicked his eyes to Harry’s lips too, copying his movements. Just a cursory look at his pink plump inviting lips. A loose grin starts to splay from his mouth as he sees Harry hesitantly look back into his eyes, like he was caught doing something illicit. They both smile at their boldness, their unrestrained thoughts going to territories that is not yet familiar.

 

“How long have you’ve known, Harry? How did you know it was me?”

 

Harry blushes profusely, his cheeks blooming as pink as a spring rose. He looks away and tries to find a distraction. His hands start to fiddle at the blue bandana tied around his wrist. His lips bitten red as he desperately attempts to formulate the right words to say.

 

“The night of the concert when I hurled on your shoes, which by the way is a complete accident. I swear to you, it wasn’t my intention to ruin your shoes, Louis. It was my first time to drink something and Gemma said it’s sweet and it tasted like bubble gum. Gemma said..” He was rubbing his arms, tugging the fabric woven around his wrist, still not looking at Louis. Embarrassment written all over his face.

 

Louis reaches out and holds his hands, his thumbs gently stroking his knuckles. This seems to calm Harry as he starts to breathe slowly, his anxiety subsiding.

 

Harry huffs and continues, “When I was on the floor, I saw this weird color on your shoe. It was my first time seeing it. I don’t know who said it, but I distinctly heard somebody say Blue. When I looked up at your face, the first thing I saw were your eyes, Louis. It’s the same color as the stain on your shoe. I knew from that night, before we hastily left the arena, that you were my soulmate.”

 

Louis wanted to suspend this moment, when both of them are looking at each other with pure awareness of that unfortunate circumstance. Unfortunate for his clothes perhaps, but not to his heart. He was awake, more awake than he has ever been. There is no denying it anymore, what his mind has been telling him for the longest time. The search is over. He’s looking at the face he will be happily waking up to every morning of his life. It’s dazzling to imagine everyday to be with your one and only. Warmth starts spreading from his chest, down to his core then to all intricate parts his body.

 

He pulled Harry close and holds his hands close to his chest. Eventually, dropping them to their sides once he knew Harry felt the regular beating of his heart. “I know love. I’m not mad at you anymore for that. I’m quite happy actually..that it happened.”

 

“Really?”

 

“That moment lead me to you. You brought me the color green.”

 

“And you brought me blue.”

 

They hovered at each other, testing which limits should be pushed at the moment. For a few seconds, they just stood there, eye to eye, chest to chest, simply feeling each other’s presence. He suddenly felt the pull, like an invisible force that persists between them. No amount of resistance will make their bodies ignore this type of attraction. He found his hand cupping the side of Harry’s face, tracing his thumb to his bottom lip. He tilts his head and leans in, pressing his lips to Harry’s. A soft hum from the boy making him go deeper into the kiss, his body melting into his.

 

He pulls away, resting their forehead together. They both breathe heavily, eyes cast downward. The excitement of what just transpired making them smile, making them giddy. He brushes his nose to Harry’s, then pecks the tip. “Thank you by the way, Harry.”

 

Harry looks at him, his eyes becoming a bit cross eyed. “For what?”

 

“For puking that god awful colored drink that night on me.”

 

“Shut up.”   

 

He kisses him one more time, like it was the prelude to what was yet to come. The beginning of something magical, a promise of forever. And just because he can, he leans in and kisses his boy...once more, and then another. 

 

 

 

**the end.**

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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